Hotel Arizona
by kerriganlkam
Summary: Mulder/Krycek. When Alex Krycek appears and tells Mulder his sister may still be alive, the two trek out to the Arizona desert to find the answer, a boy named Gibson Praise, and questionable events soon follow.
1. Game Start

**Written By:** Kari Tryk

**Based On:** The X-Files Television Series

**Rating:** T - Language, Sexuality, and Graphic Violence

**Summary:** When Alex Krycek appears and tells Mulder his sister may still be alive, the two trek out to the Arizona desert to find the answer, a boy named Gibson Praise, and questionable events soon follow. Implication of KrycekMulder pairing.

**Spoiler Possibilities: **Content includes information from SEASON 1 to SEASON 8.

**Author's Note:** Hello, this is the author, of course. I just wanted to add a note to explain my reasoning for writing this fanfiction. It's mostly a drabble, I'm not really solid on how far it'll go, I just wanted to start writing one due to the fact my family LIVES off of the X-Files, and my newfound obsession is Krycek. In this fanfiction are hints of a Krycek/Mulder slash pairing, that's just me being sneaky like always. Gibson Praise was added into the plotline because he's my favorite X-Files character just because he's such an adorable kid, and he's such a smartass that I love him to death. The idea behind Krycek and _Hotel California_ came from another fanfiction I read about him and Scully, and him liking the song. So that idea wasn't mine, I just found it amusing. And in this fanfiction, Krycek does have both arms. Whether that pisses you off or not is up to you. I used to think it was amusing that he was missing an arm because I used to hate him, then I started liking him and I felt sorry for him. So for this drabble, I gift him another arm. So, here it is, enjoy.

**All Characters/Plot Involvements © Chris Carter**

* * *

**Chapter 1: Game Start**

The blow to his head nearly sent him careening to unconsciousness. He grimaced as pain radiated through the side of his jaw. He looked up with his dark eyes dazed to meet the face of his assaulter. Walter Skinner. He found no shock at this. He barely had time to keep eye contact before he was struck again, this time staggering into the wall once more before losing his balance completely. He almost seemed to crumble next to the wall. He felt a warm buzzing in the side of his head, quickly turning to a bruising ache next to the one he received a split second before. He had been hit before, but all of those others combined never compared to when he was hit by Skinner. He was the only man Alex was afraid of, and of course, Mulder. The two of them together nearly sent him to his death just by their appearance.

"Skinner —" he started, cut off by another strike. This time he cried out from the pain.

Skinner snatched him violently by his black collar, slamming him against the wall. It echoed around the parking garage. "What are you doing here, Krycek?"

"Looking for Mulder," he replied with a slight grunt of pain. He felt another blow to his stomach, crying out again. He doubled over but Skinner slammed him back into the wall.

"What for?" the Assistant Director demanded.

"I have information for him." He was pushed harder against the wall and he winced. The rough texture of the concrete was somehow managing to begin poking its way into his spine through his jacket.

"What information?" was the next dark command.

"I can't tell you, I can only tell Mulder."

"You won't get the chance to tell Mulder if you don't tell _me_, now," Skinner warned.

"Then you can have the pleasure of telling Mulder you've killed one of his sources about the Syndicate," Krycek answered as coldly. Then with an almost homicidal tone, "Now get your hands off me."

"Assistant Director?" a voice echoed off the walls. Mulder came around one of the cars. Skinner turned slightly, holding Krycek by the chest with one fist against the wall.

"Mulder, what is Krycek doing here?" Skinner demanded.

"How am I supposed to know?" the other man answered. Krycek looked at Mulder. They're eye contact alone could have been enough to set the space between them on fire.

"He says he has information for _you_."

"Oh really?"

Krycek was hit a fifth time, now in the stomach by Mulder as well. He yelled out and Mulder repeated Skinner's actions by slamming him against the cement wall by his jacket. "You sorry son of a bitch."

"You want to hear me out Mulder," Krycek said through pained breaths.

"Do I?" he retorted. Krycek looked at Skinner as though he was hinting the AD's presence was a nuisance. He leaned forward and said in another painful tone to Mulder's ear, "It's about Samantha."

Mulder had two reactions to this. His first reaction was about his sister, who was on record as recently found dead. How she could still be alive was totally improbable. His other reaction was how the goose bumps from Krycek's breath had traveled from his neck down his back. He ignored the latter and watched Alex lean back into the wall, breathing heavily. He saw the damage Skinner had caused to the man. His lip was cut and he saw blood trickling from the back of his head into his shirt collar from being slammed into the concrete thrice before. He felt concerned for a moment, as though he realized that if this was about his sister, Krycek was a valuable source. Then he looked at Skinner while pulling something silver from his belt.

"Sir, I want you to call Agent Scully and tell her to come to my apartment as soon as she can." He flipped Krycek around and snapped the handcuffs tightly onto the assassin's wrists.

"Mulder, this man's a murderer, you're going to take him to your _apartment_?"

"Sir, I'll ask you not to argue with me. Just go." Mulder grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him over to his car. Skinner walked to the elevator wonderingly and soon disappeared.

"What are you doing?" Krycek asked, sounding almost frightened as Mulder shut the passenger side door. He sat down in the driver's seat and started the car, backing out and coasting down the levels into the street.

"Samantha's DEAD, Krycek."

"You'd think so, but you'd be wrong," Alex answered simply.

"I saw her ghost, Krycek, she's dead, she died when she was fourteen."

"No, she didn't."

"Then who has her? You? The Syndicate?"

Krycek looked over at Mulder. The agent had the idea that whatever Krycek's next answer was, he wasn't going to like it at all. A look of despair swept over his face.

"Don't tell me it's that cigarette smoking bastard," Mulder begged.

"Who else?"

"Oh, god. Anyone but him, that SON OF A BITCH!" Mulder yelled, almost making Krycek wince in fear. "Where is he keeping her?"

"Indiana. They're using her as bait for something."

"Bait? Bait for what?" Mulder seemed frightened now.

"Smokey thinks that the alien colonization can be stopped if your sister is sacrificed."

"SACRIFICED?! What the hell does that mean, sacrifice!"

"Your sister was one of the first alien abductions. They _know_ her. Spender brought her back to keep her from them and has recently been offering other subjects. Such as Scully."

"Scully?"

"The aliens said that was fine but eventually they wanted Samantha back after a certain amount of time, after the Syndicate performed their _own_ tests, to see how the cloning process was going. After a while, Spender decided he didn't _want_ to give her back. When he told the aliens he wanted to keep her, they said they'd be willing to make a deal if Spender cooperated. If she was handed over to them, they'd postpone the colonization."

"Why do they want my sister so badly?"

"She's carrying something. Some sort of piece of something that they need. Her first abduction and the tests they did left her with something that they need back."

"Do you know what it is?"

"No. Spender doesn't even know. The only ones that do are Samantha and the aliens."

"Well, how the hell does he not know? That bastard knows everything. The _one_ time we need information on something, he doesn't know."

"Are these necessary?" Krycek asked skeptically, noting that the handcuffs were still on him.

"If Scully's going to see you, yes." Mulder pulled into the parking lot of his apartment building and shut off the engine. He led Krycek up the stairs and down the hallway to door _42_. After opening the door for Krycek and slamming it shut angrily, Mulder flopped onto his couch with an audible _whumph_ and Krycek sat on his computer chair almost patiently.

"The reason I came to tell you all of this was because it leads back to another case you recently worked on."

"And what's that?"

"If this was just about your sister I never would have told you because it would risk my life too much," Krycek started. He stood up and at on the floor while Mulder watched him.

"Glad to hear your extent of willing assistance," Mulder said sarcastically.

"Hear me out, Mulder," he began again. While he spoke, he slowly moved his arms down his back and under his legs. He winced several times, still speaking with pain in his voice and the occasional grunt. "This colonization thing is way more harsh than you believe it to be. Spender says that if Samantha isn't turned over to the aliens, all of their previous _abductees_ are going to be executed." There was a gruesome sounding crack, he grimaced with a grunt/yelp, and then stood up, bracing his shoulder with one hand while the other hung limp from the handcuffs that bound them together. Mulder suddenly got very quiet, staring at Krycek for a long while.

"You mean Scully's going to die," he concluded in an almost eerily calm tone.

"Mulder, Spender's your father. You think he's going to give up your _sister_?" He spun the chair around and sat on it backwards, crossing his arms over the back and watching Mulder closely. He rubbed his neck roughly and grimaced as his own blood smeared onto his fingers, which he promptly smeared back onto his pants.

"So, because Spender's the selfish bastard he is, Scully and about a hundred other people are just going to _die_?"

"Would you give up Samantha if you finally found her?" Krycek sighed, and would have rubbed his eyes tiredly if the handcuffs were nonexistent at the time. "Spender has a time limit, and he doesn't want to give up Samantha. But to him, losing Scully is almost equivalent, due to your inclusion to the equation. Either way, he can't win. He wants to know what Samantha is keeping from the aliens, but she won't, or can't, tell him. _Ergo_, how does he solve this one?"

Mulder stared at him. Krycek sighed again, this time in frustration. After a pause they both jumped as the door shut with a loud snap. Dana Scully stood at the door looking as skeptical as ever. Mulder readily got to his feet.

"Mulder, what's Krycek doing here? Skinner told me to meet you, I —" she was slowly cut off as Mulder walked over to her, hushing her as he got closer. They had a hushed conversation that left Krycek sitting with his chin resting in one palm lazily on the back of the chair.

"Mulder, she's _dead_!" Scully said in a convincing tone.

"Krycek says she's not, and if that bastard has her, I have to go find her!"

"Mulder, _wake up_. You're actually going to believe this RAT?"

"Hey," Krycek said defensively.

"Shut up," they both snapped. He closed his mouth in a half pout.

"He killed my sister, Mulder, AND your father! He's killed so many people and told so many lies, the Guinness Book of World Records couldn't keep up, and now you're telling me you're going to _believe_ him?"

"He says there's more to it than Samantha. Spender's looking for something that he needs to get the information out of her."

"If Spender can find something that will get Samantha to tell him whatever the aliens want, he won't have to give her up. Mulder stays happy and out of his hair, and the colonization gets postponed. He doesn't have jack-squat to worry about for the next two hundred years." Krycek sat up straighter and let his hands crisscross limply over the chair.

"So you're saying we have a chance to save my sister," Mulder corrected.

"Warmer," Krycek nodded.

"Well, what's Spender going to do, read her mind?" Scully asked sarcastically.

"Warmer," he repeated.

"Or find something that _can_ read her mind," Mulder said suddenly, almost to himself. Scully looked at him like he was crazy. It was a look she made so frequently that Mulder was able to ignore it.

"So close," the dark eyed man said with a smile that Mulder found too dubiously attractive.

"Well, what do we know that can read minds?" Scully asked disbelievingly. Krycek just raised his eyebrows playfully, watching the two of them work it out. He especially liked playing with Mulder's mind. Ever since that long ago day when he had been assigned as Scully's replacement, back before he became a full assassin, he had made it a hobby. He drummed his fingers ever so slightly on the back of the chair he sat upon.

"Never said what," the man said with that smile.

"Who?" Mulder asked.

"Even warmer."

"Gibson Praise," Scully said suddenly. Krycek smiled and pointed his index finger at Scully, making the fake noise of a gunshot.

"Bingo to the redhead."

"Spender's after Gibson?" Mulder asked.

"That's why I'm here. If you guys find the kid before Spender does, then you can probably save your sister, and Scully."

"How does finding Gibson help Mulder's sister?"

"Because if the smoker finds the kid, he'll read Samantha's mind. Spender finds out what she's keeping from the colonists, and he'll use it as a weapon against them, and afterward probably kill the kid. More chances than one, the aliens will get pissed and just attack the planet and take Samantha by force or something. So whether he knows or not, he won't give up Samantha. The _abductees_ are doomed to die, and everything goes to hell. If you can find the kid and get Samantha back, you can give the aliens whatever they want and we can all live our dandy little lives."

"Speak for yourself," Mulder said in an undertone.

"How are we supposed to get Samantha if Spender has her?" Scully asked quickly, catching the flaw in his plan.

"I had that all planned out, but once I tell you, you're not gonna like it."

"I didn't like it before you started. Spill it," she demanded.

"No matter how much Spender says he'd kill you, Agent Scully, he never will. That would jeopardize his situation with Mulder. You have questions about your cancer you had, so if you can go to Spender, asking for answers, tell him that you know he knows what happened to you, and you'll threaten to expose his whole plan unless he tell you. You spend time doing that, eventually at some point you sneak Samantha out, there, we have the sister. Meanwhile, Mulder and I can go find the kid."

"You know where he is?" Scully asked.

"Yes. He's in Arizona, which is why I suggested Mulder comes with me. I lead him to the kid, I tell you where to find Spender, we're all good." Krycek crisscrossed his hand again and rested his chin on the top of them. He looked up at them like some sort of puppy. Mulder tried to ignore it.

"Why do you want to help us in all of this anyway?" the latter asked suspiciously.

"I have one condition. Well, two actually. One may be simple, the other may be a little difficult, but I won't help you without it."

Scully looked disapprovingly at Mulder, who sighed and nodded to himself. "And these are?"

"One, you and Skinner stop hitting me, because I'm TIRED OF IT."

Scully tried to hold back a laugh at this and Mulder rolled his eyes, then gave an expression of intention at the cuffed man's next condition.

"And I want my name cleared."

Scully once again glanced disapprovingly at Mulder.

"You know that's not possible, Krycek. On record, you've killed thirteen people." Scully had her arms crossed over her chest, making her seem like a mother scolding a child asking for another cookie before dinner.

"I don't care. You have a choice, Mulder. Either you get my name cleared, or we all die within the next 72 hours."

"That's how long he has?" Mulder questioned. His enemy nodded. Mulder stared at Scully, unsure whether to answer or not.

"Even if we wanted to, Krycek, we couldn't. There's no way a record like yours can just disappear! The Bureau would notice, especially with the crimes you've committed."

Krycek just stared, his chin still upon his crossed hands. He continued to stare at them that way, until he just focused on Mulder. He seemed to be the most trapped one of all. He had so many choices, they seemed to be pestering him like a conscience. Let his sister die, let Scully die, let Gibson die, let the whole _world_ die, or free his worst enemy into the world. That seemed to be a fair balance of choices.

He had a staring contest with Krycek for nearly five minutes, Scully looking shiftily between the two. Krycek continued to emit that slight radiance of a puppy face, and Mulder continued to try and ignore it, almost failing. He covered his face with his hands in exhaustion and flopped onto his couch again with a moan. He sat with his head thrown onto the back of the couch, his hands still over his eyes, until he finally dropped his fingers, looked around the room obliviously and then leaned forward, supporting his elbows on his knees.

"Scully, call Skinner and ask him if he can arrange anything. Tell him I'm booking a flight to Arizona tomorrow morning at 10:30 am, and I'm taking Krycek with me. By the time we get back I need his name cleared and I need any files we have left on Gibson Praise."

Scully dropped her jaw and Krycek raised his eyebrows, almost tilting his head and carrying on that puppy like look. He slowly let a smile across his face and then just looked back over to Scully, who was turned facing Mulder in utter disbelief.

"Mulder, that man is a _murderer_. An _assassin_ who has tried more than once to kill the _both of us_ as well! You actually want me to call up _ASSISTANT DIRECTOR_ _Skinner_ and ask him to just _erase his criminal record_?!" She was practically yelling by now. Krycek felt a sort of relief wash over him, and some sort of appreciation towards Mulder. He set the side of his head on his hands and slowly began to spin a few inches back and forth hypnotically as Scully argued with Mulder for another ten minutes.

Finally: "Scully _please_, I'm asking you _honestly_. I know all of the stupid cases I've dragged you into, all of the dead ends I've made you walk, but please, just this one last time. This could be the answers to _everything_!"

"You say that _every time_ Mulder, and _every time_ we come to the same conclusion! We _always_ come to the dead end, we _always_ come to that nonexistent answer! When are you going to just _GIVE UP_?!"

"WHEN I FIND OUT WHAT THE HELL ACTUALLY HAPPENED TO MY SISTER!" Mulder yelled back, raising his voice for the first time. She seemed taken aback, and Krycek opened his eyes, looking up to see her reaction. "Scully, please."

The two men watched her as she shook with anger, until finally she let out a long sigh and grabbed her cell phone from her pocket.

"Thank you," Mulder said as sincerely as he could. She dialed a number while walking out the door. Mulder got tiredly to his feet and pulled off his coat while undoing his tie. Krycek watched him quietly as he walked back and forth between his bedroom and the living room silently, pulling off another piece of clothing here and there, kicking off his shoes, pulling his cell phone and gun out and dropping them onto the coffee table. He came out of his room one last time finally without his shirt while undoing his belt and Krycek watched slowly as he picked up his gun, gave him a sort of suspicious glance, before walking back into his room and shutting the door.

He was still sitting in the computer chair with his head lying on his handcuffed wrists five minutes later until he slowly stood up and sat down on the couch. He licked his hand and rubbed the back of his neck furiously until he had cleaned most of the blood from his hair and neck line. He wiped his hands on his pants again, so used to having blood on him at all times that he didn't care anymore. He looked at the blank TV.

"Touch that remote and I shoot your dick off, Krycek," Mulder's voice sounded from behind the door.

The assassin almost smiled to himself and he slowly rested his body onto the cushions, grabbing a pillow and stuffing it behind his black hair. He stared at the ceiling with his exhausted dark green eyes until he finally drifted into the first easy sleep he had had in a long time, while quietly humming _Hotel California._


	2. The Shower

**Chapter 2: The Shower**

"Get up."

Alex felt a sharp kick on his chest. More of a stomp onto his ribcage, courtesy of Mulder's boot. He groaned and rolled onto his side, clutching his new injury with tired hands. The man stood above him in his blue jeans and black boots. He was fastening his belt as Krycek looked up at him with fuzzy vision. He was tucking his gun into his holster when Alex decided to speak.

"What time is it?"

"It's 8:50. We have a flight at ten, so get your ass in the shower."

Krycek sat up as Mulder walked into his bedroom. His jaw was sore and he already felt a pulsing headache. His stomach grumbled as he started getting to his feet. He promptly sat back down as his body protested. He sighed long and soundly.

"Krycek, shower," Mulder said sternly. He looked around the bedroom door with an urging glance while buttoning up a casual shirt, and Krycek nodded to himself.

"Coming, I'm coming…" his dry voice trailed off. He finally rose to his feet, his headache causing him to stumble, and dragged his body through Mulder's bedroom. He walked into the bathroom and shut the door with a light _snap_ that still made his head pound loudly. It was warm in there, probably from Mulder's shower he assumed as he leaned over the sink with a sigh. His body felt like melting onto the floor and slipping back into his beautiful sleep.

His exhausted gaze met itself in the lightly fogged mirror. With his blurred vision he could barely make himself out, but the moisture slowly drifted away and his eyesight came back into focus. Two minutes later he was staring at himself, wondering who it was.

The man he stared at had semi-short black hair, dirty and ruffled like it always seemed to be, especially when he slept on it. His dark eyes were littered with fatigue, including the dark circles painted under them, almost sealing the fact that before he had gotten to Mulder's apartment he hadn't slept in six days. They were a weary dark green, making him seem evilly innocent. His lip was still cut, a light bruise surrounding it. The rest of his mouth was dry, making it look like he hadn't had water in weeks. The outline of his ear was red and a bruise was barely visible, a mark Skinner had no hesitation of leaving. This appeared to be the source of his headache, and every pound made it hurt worse. Dry blood still sat around the bottom of his hairline behind his neck where it had hit the wall. Some of it had trickled and dried onto the collar of his shirt.

But most of all, besides looking extremely exhausted, this man in the mirror looked terrified. Alex found his odd. The man looked scared, for his life maybe, looking as though he knew his death was approaching within even minutes. He continued to stare at this man before another long deep sigh escaped his mouth.

_Yeah, that's me, all right._

He looked down at the edge of the sink and noticed for the first time that the handcuffs were missing from his wrists. Instead they bore dark red lines, some deep enough to be bruised cuts. His body ached fiercely, but he stood up straight and slipped his heavy jacket from his shoulder, dropping it onto the tile with a light _whumf._ He saw a towel folded on the edge of the counter for him, and for some reason it made him want to laugh as he grabbed the back of the collar of his shirt, puling it over his head and down his arms. Now he had a chance to see how damaged he really was. He dropped his ragged shirt onto his jacket and looked at the front of his chest. All manner of scraped and bruises were visible, but all were mostly light. He could feel that his stomach was bruised, but no visible of evidence was there. He turned to see his back in the mirror and saw the scrapes from the parking garage wall Skinner had pushed him into. They weren't drastic, but it looked like he got attacked by a pack of rabid kittens. When he described this to himself he let out a fit of snickers for about thirty seconds. After it started to feed his headache he took a deep breath and rubbed his neck roughly, trying to loosen the cramp that began settling there.

"Why isn't the shower running, Krycek?" Mulder said loudly through the door.

_God he's annoying when he's in a hurry,_ he thought dully. With his weariness almost becoming overpowering, he undid his belt with sore fingers and, standing in the now mildly cold bathroom, turned the shower on.

"And don't take longer than ten minutes, we need to leave soon!" Mulder added with a prompt smack on the door. Alex rubbed his eyes irritably and slipped off his boxers, stepping into the falling water. It was adjusting to the setting slowly, which he didn't mind. It gave his body time to adjust as well. His stomach growled again and he groaned lightly, breathing through his nose, annoyed. The water on his scratched back itched for a few moments before feeling calmed. He let out a slow yawn, while another rumbled ensued in his stomach. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten. He didn't get to eat often nowadays, and when he did he never ate much. It showed too. He was thin, but the outline of his muscles was slightly visible. Even if he didn't eat much, he still got plenty of exercise. Running from the Syndicate, running from the super soldiers, running from Skinner, running from Mulder; no wonder he never ate, who had the time?

He leaned his head back and felt the hot water run through his hair, sending goose bumps down his neck and shoulders. When was the last time he took a shower? He couldn't remember. He couldn't remember that last time he did _anything_ that seemed human.

And why did he suddenly decide to help Mulder? He wasn't to clear on that either. It was just a thought that struck him at the time. That time when Spender told him he needed his help keeping Samantha safe. When he found out why Spender was asking for said help, he suddenly got the feeling that something wasn't right about it, and Mulder needed to be brought into the equation. It felt odd; Alex had never felt that before. Thoughts of Mulder usually consisted of anger, followed by homicidal tendencies. The only time he ever helped Mulder was when the Syndicate did something to make him hate them more than he hated Mulder, and that took a lot. He hated Mulder beyond all reason, had since that damned day he was sent in to be his partner after Scully was taken off the X-Files. But in this case, it was the sheer feeling that this was something Mulder _needed_ to know.

Hell, Mulder needed to know a lot of things involving the Syndicate, and Spender. But why suddenly _this_ piece of information? It was scrap-info compared to what Krycek could _actually_ spill. So why only this and not the rest?

He stood under the water pondering all of this while he ran his hands through his hair, feeling the continuous drip of it down his back. The water felt so good he was scared he might fall asleep standing up. He closed is eyes and breathed in the hot steam. His mind went light for a second as

_(he felt his hands go through the taller man's brown hair the warmth of his body against his own left a calm but frenzied behavior in his system he felt those fingers grip the back of his hair until he felt those lips on his own hearing)_

"Krycek!"

He jumped like a startled cat, his heart pounding furiously in his ribcage, soon up in his temples as well. He swallowed, oddly enough, dryly under the shower.

"Yeah?" he called back, failing to hide the shakiness in his voice.

"It's been ten minutes, get your ass out here, we need to go!"

"Okay!" was his impatient reply.

"NOW!"

He shut off the water and stood in the shower, speechless to his own thoughts. How had he

_(warmth of his body)_

in a split second come up

_(those fingers grip)_

with that?

_You fell asleep for a minute, you were dreaming,_ he told himself. _But still. THAT?_

He shook his head a bit to try and physically shake off the thought, and stepped out of the shower, grabbing the folded towel on the counter. The water was cooling as it dripped down his body, tickling his sides lightly, making him want to shiver. He tossed the towel over his hair and rubbed it ferociously. He looked at the odd angles at which it stood up now in the mirror, which was again slightly fogged over.

"KRYCEK!" Mulder yelled.

"I'M COMING!"

_No shit, _ he absentmindedly thought.

"Here. Now hurry up."

The voice was so close and no longer loud and angry that it made him jump like a gunshot had gone off in an empty room. A pair of dark jeans, black boxers and a black shirt were thrown at him. The bathroom door snapped shut and he felt like a deer in the headlights of an eighteen-wheeler. But why? _Why did that scared me so much?_

_Because you're afraid of Mulder,_ he reminded himself. Yes, that was it. Of course it would freak him out, Mulder snuck up on him and

_(grabbed both of his wrists pinning them halfway above his head a forceful mouth came upon his roughly but he didn't mind though he was practically moaning)_

"KRYCEK!"

He jumped again, in the process of zipping up the dark jeans.

_See? You're in his pants_, his mind mocked.

"Oh, for the love of —" he started out loud.

"_KRYCEK!_"

"I'M COMING!" he shouted angrily. His anger lingered hotly for a moment, and then he let out a very long sigh, holding the edge of the sink with both hands, leaning back on it. He stared at the shirt Mulder had tossed to him, lying on the tile floor. He picked it up and held it for a moment, still leaning back on the counter. He pulled it over his wet hair and slowly pulled his arms through the sleeves. He picked up his jacket and shook it out roughly, walking out of the bathroom.

"Finally. The aliens could have colonized TWICE with the time you were taking." Mulder double-checked that he had his gun and then grabbed his own jacket.

"Well, SAW-RY," Alex shot back childishly.

"Don't start with me, Krycek. Now, we have to stop by the Bureau to see Scully on the way to the airport. We'll get the files on Gibson, Skinner will cover our trip, and we catch our flight to Phoenix."

"Sounds good," Krycek said tiredly, pulling on his jacket. "Anyone gonna follow us?"

Mulder opened the door and looked at him. "I said Skinner will take care of it. Now let's go." Krycek looked at him suspiciously. It took him a moment to notice. "What?"

"You're not going to handcuff me or anything? Lead me out of the building at gunpoint at least?"

"No. Unless you want me to," he added sarcastically. Krycek sneered and headed for the door irritably. Mulder closed it and as he locked it, started down the hallway, tucking his keys into his pocket with a smirk.

"I didn't realize you were into bondage, Krycek."

"Shut up, Mulder."


	3. Nostalgia

**Chapter 3: Nostalgia**

The car pulled up to the FBI building later that morning. Krycek stared out the window quietly, and Mulder kept a suspicious eye on him. The assassin was very keen on not locking eyes with him, and he was very curious as to why. He was pondering asking the other man why, but decided against it. To him, that would sound like he was concerned if something was wrong. That would be a bad impression to lie down. Krycek might abuse that thought; but the FBI agent still wanted to know what was wrong. He blocked it out of his mind as he parked the car.

Putting it off as he was "not letting Krycek stay in the car alone", he locked the car as they both walked up the steps of the skyscraper and headed inside. Alex found himself being led into the X-Files office, where Scully had been waiting for them. As Mulder yawned, she sighed and handed him a semi-thick folder with Gibson Praise's picture on the inside on top of several documents. He glanced at it for a moment before handing it to Krycek, for whatever reason unknown to the three of them, with an expectant look.

"So, are either of you going to tell me where I'm supposed to find Spender or what?" she asked. Krycek was flipping through the pages of the file curiously when Mulder cleared his throat, making him look up.

"Oh, right. Yeah." He closed the pages and took a tired breath, looking over Mulder's desk, finally grabbing a notepad and scribbling an address over it. "Fort Wayne, Indiana."

"How remote," Scully said sarcastically.

"And you didn't get that from me," he added.

"Right," she said slowly, an inquiring eye held on him. "Mulder, can I talk to you for a minute?"

Mulder shrugged, apparently not protesting. She took him outside the door and shut it, concealing them in the hallway. He heard their voices briefly, but shut them out as he yawned. He tucked the folder of Gibson's file under his arm and shoved his hands into the pockets of the dark jeans around his hips. He let his eyes wander around the room, looking at the posters and bulletin boards. The metal filing cabinets made the room awfully cramped for his liking, and he felt a moment of nostalgia, thinking of when he had been assigned to the X-Files, way back when.

He remembered double crossing the agency a hundred times over. Back then the adrenaline was a constant feeling, afraid but excited to see when they would finally realize. He had his share of adrenaline rushes still, caught in life risking situations, but remembering the days when he began all of it made him want to smile.

He wandered slowly over to the bulletin board, breathing silently with tired eyes running over the photographs pinned there. Reading the newspaper clippings, he shifted his gaze to the "I WANT TO BELIEVE" poster infamously tacked up behind his chair. He finally smiled, letting his eyes wander now to the floor. Crumpled papers and sunflower seed shells littered the waist basket and the edges of the floor around it. This fed his smile again at the memory of his adversary's old habit.

There was a light but loud tap that made his eyes snap to the desk, turning around. A pencil rolled to the edge of the wood and halted. He cocked an eyebrow and picked it up gently, examining it before looking up.

A group of newly sharpened and never used pencils hung from the ceiling over his head. He remembered Mulder had a habit of doing that as well, when he was bored, or thinking of a troubling topic. The man was rather interesting when he was in deep though, now that Krycek thought about it. He looked at the pencil in his fingers and ran his thumb over it. He

_(of a troubling topic)_

looked up again quietly and

_(troubling topic)_

tossed the pencil back up. The dull _thk_ of it hitting the ceiling was the only sound in the room. It stuck now stationery above his head. He kept his eyes on it for a moment until he heard the door open.

"Come on, Krycek."

He nodded tiredly, and with one last look at the pencil, he walked through the door Mulder held open. Scully gave them a glance before they headed down the hallway.

"I'll be leaving for Indiana tonight. Mulder?" she started.

"I know, I heard you the first time. We're going."

"Be careful," she warned.

"Because we never are," he said skeptically. Krycek took an inward sigh and strolled down the hallway after Mulder.

"What was that all about?" he asked.

"Scully says that Skinner can cover our trail for about twenty four hours. After that the Bureau is bound to find out we're gone. She's passing off her trip to Indiana as a family emergency," Mulder explained as they entered the elevator. "She said our flight to Arizona was cancelled by the FBI —"

"Why?" he interrupted.

"I guess they don't want us looking for Gibson. Apparently they know something we don't."

"How could they, the Syndicate doesn't even know about Gibson."

"Apparently somebody connected with the Bureau does. So we have to take a flight into San Francisco, we'll rent a car and drive from there. Scully arranged everything so we can't be tracked for a short amount of time. They'll think we've given up, but by the time they find out we're gone, they'll probably come looking for us. So we need to travel like we're _not_ us."

"How are we going to do that?" Krycek asked plainly.

"I don't know, I haven't gotten that far yet."

"Oh, _that's _ confident."

"Give me some credit, would you? I'm trying here, Jesus."

"Well, you said Skinner was supposed to keep them from finding out where we're going! How could the FBI possibly know about this thing?" he shot impatiently as they reached the car. Mulder looked over the top of the vehicle at the other man.

"How the fuck am I supposed to know? You're the one leading me to this case, as far as I'm concerned, _you_ told them and you're leading me into a trap," he added as he opened his door to get in.

"What? That's not even — Mulder —"

"Get in the car, our flight's in half an hour."

Krycek stared in the car with a look of confusion, almost hurt, if Mulder looked hard enough, but mostly frustration. He sat down angrily and slammed his door shut, staring straight ahead through the windshield as Mulder started the car.

"I didn't tell anyone," he stated flatly.

"Whatever, Krycek."

"Don't get angry at me," he started.

"I'm not," Mulder shot back, almost cutting him off. He backed the car up and drove out of the parking lot into the street. They drove a few miles and Mulder pulled onto a freeway, staring ahead without a word. Nothing but a stern look on his face, his eyes narrowed.

"You're never going to trust me, are you?" Alex asked after a long silence.

"Just because I believe you about this case doesn't mean I trust you," he snapped.

Krycek swallowed dryly and set his elbow on the door's armrest, running his fingers through his hair stressfully. He wish for once this man _would_ trust him, or cut him a break once in a while. He hadn't told anyone but him and Scully about Spender and Gibson. He didn't know who had tattled, but for once, he wasn't the rat. This all felt strange to him, like he was almost doing the right thing. That idea sank his stomach so low it hurt his chest. He glanced sideways at the man driving, keeping his hands in his hair gently. He

_(felt his hands go through the taller man's brown hair the warmth of his body)_

clenched his teeth, frustrated with himself, reminding himself it was his own hand in his hair, not Mulder's. These thoughts were driving him crazy, and he wished they would stop, ignoring the honest part of his mind **(Author: Yes, it exists.)** which told him that no matter how much he claimed he despised them, he wanted them to stay. Still, he knew that Mulder hated him, and he hated Mulder still, they would always be enemies, and these thoughts were probably just some lie that sprouted in his brain when he decided to even pursue this dumb case. But watching Mulder's eyes at the thought of saving his sister gave him almost a inspiring feeling. Was it that which had driven him to come to Mulder with this knowledge? It must have been, it was the only solution he had.

He felt a bitter taste starting in his mouth, and he gritted his teeth for a second. Finally, he dropped his hand from his hair onto his lap and let his head fall back onto the seat.


	4. Perplexed

**Chapter 4: Perplexed**

The plane landed in Oakland a few hours later with a loud thump as it hit the runway. Krycek yawned painfully, his ears sore from the elevation of the flight. He watched all of the people on the plane clamber around for their luggage as they stepped into the aisles. After almost everyone was out of sight, Mulder got up and started after them. Krycek followed quietly. They walked through the terminal in that oh-so-cliché silence until Mulder spoke tonelessly.

"Are you hungry?"

Though there was blankness in that voice, Krycek could tell he had strained to ask. He hadn't eaten in what felt like ages, and he knew Mulder at least hadn't eaten since the day before.

"Yeah," he answered in his exhausted match. He watched Mulder nod to himself and they trudged through the slightly busy airport. They passed by food vendors, and no matter how hungry he was, the smell made Krycek sick for some reason. Mulder turned into a small place and instructed his enemy to sit down. He flopped into a metal chair obediently and kept his mind on the thought of food as it tried to feed him pieces about Mulder. The agent mentioned something to the cashier, and later came back with two fast cooked bland hamburgers. He had been used to eating things worse, so he took it without protest. They both ate without a word, his brain awfully cluttered.

As they finished, Mulder sighed and stood up. He followed the agent after a second and they took an elevator down into the parking garage of the airport.

"We're going to take a car from here and drive into Arizona. Hopefully the FBI won't notice we still got on another flight. I'm sure they would expect us to take one straight into Phoenix, so even if they do, it'll still be a while before we can be tracked."

"And where are we getting a car?" he asked, silently glad Mulder had decided to speak again, no matter the subject. The agent gave him a look and he suddenly quirked an eyebrow.

"Wait a minute. You're going to steal a car?" he asked in disbelief.

"No, _you're_ going to steal a car," Mulder corrected. Krycek stared, his eyebrow still raised.

"Why ME?"

"Because I said so," was the simple reply.

"What? That's not even a reason! Just because _you_ say so, it has to happen?"

"Yes, and you'll do well to remember that if you want to live," he said coldly. Krycek shut his mouth instantly, automatically frightened at the sudden change to a hostile attitude. Mulder had never liked him, of course, but there was a new sinister side to his voice all of the sudden. He didn't like it. It frightened him more than the normal Mulder did.

"Look, you have plenty of experience stealing cars. Besides, even if you did steal one car, what would it matter if your record's going to be cleared when this is over? And if we steal a car, it would be harder for us to be traced than if we had rented one." Mulder looked like he wanted to say all of this after his sudden outburst, and now Krycek was really confused.

"Mulder, come on. What makes you think I have 'experience' in stealing cars!?"

Mulder narrowed his eyes. "Because it's YOU."

He stared. Maybe Mulder did know him more than he expected. He rubbed his eyes with his hand and let out an angry breath. "FINE."

They walked down a row of cars, Krycek certain he could hear Mulder breathing heavily like he was nervous.

"Do you have a preference?" he questioned sarcastically.

"Anything black."

"Why black?"

"Because black's harder to see an night, and I hate black. No one would expect me to have a black car."

"Aren't you going a little overboard with this whole 'don't act like yourself' thing?" the assassin said after a pause.

"Look, I'm just being logical here."

"Wow. 'Spooky Mulder' being logical?"

"Krycek, will you just find a damn car?" he snapped.

"Why do you hate black?"

"Why does it matter?"

"I dunno. It's just a weird thing to hate."

"I prefer red," he answered quietly. Krycek nodded after a moment with a skeptical tint in his eyes.

"Listen, all I'm saying is that if Scully gets caught or something and they question her about where we are, she's probably going to say we'd be driving a red car, she knows I like red cars."

"Whatever, Mulder."

"She told us to be careful," he pointed out.

"That she did," Krycek agreed, halting at a fairly new looking black Hyundai Elantra. He looked it over after a moment, and then got onto his stomach and looked under the engine. He rolled onto his back, then paused.

"Is this okay?" he asked in another sarcastic voice. Mulder narrowed his eyes threateningly.

"Okay, okay, I'm going, geez." He grabbed the bottom of the car's bumper and to Mulder's surprise, managed to get halfway under the vehicle. There was a shuffling noise and Mulder stared where Krycek's upper body had disappeared.

"What are you doing?" he asked, for the first time, with his own curious tone.

"Disconnecting the alarm cables," came the audible reply. There was the sound of a spark, a loud beep, Krycek's short yelp, and then a second went by. Shortly after, he began to crawl back out. His shirt slipped up to his neck, caught on the rough cement, exposing his chest and stomach and his back was scraped slightly on the ground, annoying his other scratches from last night. He finally crawled all the way out and as he paused to get up, he swore he saw Mulder staring at his chest for a split second. The next, his eyes were on his face, and the moment Krycek felt his heart beginning to speed up, he rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself to his feet. He straightened his shirt and rubbed his hair nervously.

"Now what?" Mulder asked, obviously noticing the same awkwardness that was settling over them as Krycek was.

"Do you have a bottle opener?"

"— pardon me?"

"A bottle opener. Like a little metal key chain?"

Mulder gave him an indescribable stare, then reached into his pocket for his keys. After unhooking the object, he handed it to the other man and watched him crouch beside the driver's door. Still with that look in his eyes, he saw Krycek place the object where they door's keyhole was. With the sound of lightly scraping metal, he jammed the end of the bottle opener into it and like a crowbar, wrenched it to the side and the cover slipped off with a quiet but annoying screech, clattering onto the garage ground.

"You wouldn't conveniently happen to have a paper clip, would you?" he asked the next. Mulder suddenly felt like smiling, but didn't.

"There might be one in Gibson's profile, hold on a second," he realized. He pulled the folder from his jacket. A section of the papers was held together with a paper clip, which he promptly removed.

"Unbend it and hand it to me," the assassin said, noticing he had manage to produce the object. Mulder unwound the paper clip, shaking his head to himself and handing it over the man's shoulder. After hearing a few clicks as Krycek worked, a second later there was a louder click from inside the car and with a sigh, he stood up. He handed both the bottle opener and the paper clip back to Mulder.

"Thank you," he said tiredly, then opened the car door and sat down.

"Now what are you doing?"

"Looking for a spare key," he said matter-of-factly.

"You really think some one's dumb enough to leave a key in their car?" Mulder said skeptically. Krycek held a newly discovered bronze key in front of the agent's face with a smirk.

"People aren't as smart as you'd think," he said, handing the key to the taller man. He got out of the car after unlocking the other doors, leaving Mulder standing there with another one of his indescribable looks. Whether it was annoyance with Krycek's smart-ass remarks, or whether he was impressed with his ability to unlock a car with a key chain, he wasn't sure. But after a moment of perplexity, he eventually got into the car with a hidden smile of his own. With Krycek staring out of the passenger seat window again, he drove out of the parking garage.


	5. Restriction

**Chapter 5: Restriction**

"What are you doing here?"

He stared, waiting for the taller man to answer. He didn't reply. He looked tired, but Alex watched as he grabbed the collar of his gray shirt and stripped it off, not slowly, but almost patiently, and dropped it to the side. He stared at it, then back up at those eyes.

"What —" he started. His enemy walked over, not necessarily in a casual manner, with a hint of irritancy that Alex had started speaking. With the decision of silencing him, Alex suddenly felt two lightly, but forcing, hands on his face and his lips were pushed against his. With silent demand he was walked backwards, their mouths playing, until Krycek felt his back hit the wall. The man's arms went on either side of him, blocking any escape. As he felt himself pressing against him, those arms slid down to tangle with his fingers. He was then grabbed by his shirt and turned around, then backed onto the bed.

He was sat down, then pushed onto his back playfully. After kissing at his mouth a bit more, he moved down Krycek's chin, licking and nipping down his throat, then up the side of his neck under his ear where he whispered his name, once, twice, then again until Krycek felt himself moaning back.

"Mulder —"

"KRYCEK!" he shouted. The other man leapt so high he hit his head on the ceiling of the car.

"ARGH!" he grimaced, holding both hands on the top of his head. Looking through squinted and exhaustingly annoyed eyes, he noted the headlights through the windshield, lighting the dirty road beneath the tires.

"God, I said your name three times," Mulder insisted irritably.

"Sorry," he answered back through his teeth with the same tone. "What is it?"

"I can barely keep my eyes open. Should we stop, or do you want to drive?" Mulder suggested.

"I dunno, I'm already half asleep, we might as well stop," he mumbled, rubbing his head with one hand and dropping the other in an exasperated manner into his lap.

"Fine. There should be a hotel or something up here soon," the agent yawned quietly.

"Good," he slurred back, leaning his head onto the headrest of his seat, still rubbing the spot that had hit the ceiling.

Twenty minutes later, with Krycek already fully asleep again, Mulder pulled the car into a small town. The traditional "few houses, one set of stores, one gas station, and a dinky motel" type of town. The motel's sign was blinking in the dark above their heads. As he shut the car off, letting the newfound silence ring painfully in his ears, he got out to reserve a room, leaving Krycek still passed out in the passenger seat.

Another few minutes later he stepped back out into the dirt covered parking lot and rapped his knuckles on Krycek's window, making him jerk awake almost frighteningly. His eyes behind the dust spotted glass almost made Mulder feel sorry for him for some reason. Shaking his thoughts away, he jerked his thumb towards the rooms and Krycek nodded with a yawn afterwards, unbuckling his seatbelt and unfolding himself from the car into the stiffly cold air. His muscles tensed tenderly, still sore from Skinner and the recent seven-hour car drive. For once he wished he were numb enough to sleep.

Mulder spun the room key in his hand absentmindedly as the other man followed him. After unlocking the door and flicking the dim light on, he motioned for Krycek to enter, then shut the door with a snap too unnatural for the silence, which made both of their senses twitch. As Mulder peeled off his jacket and dropped it on a chair in the corner with the room key, Krycek stared at the first thing that caught his attention, and the only thing that made his chest tighten slightly for some reason.

"Mulder."

"Mm."

"There's only one bed."

There was a pause as Mulder looked up. He had sat down on top of his jacket and was untying his shoes.

"I know," he answered, pulling the laces of his shoes apart as he stared at Krycek's confused face.

"But —"

"Scully said we're being followed, right? Renting a room with two beds would be suspicious if they know there's two of us. If I tell the guy I wanted a room for one, they'd overlook it."

"But —"

"I know I don't have a reputation with being nice and all, but seeing as you're still pretty beat up, you can go ahead and have the bed, I'll sleep on the floor."

"But —"

"And I don't want you complaining about being sore tomorrow, so it's a benefit to me. I know your hurt, you don't hide it very well, you know that?"

"Yeah, but —"

"We can take showers tonight or tomorrow, it's your choice. I expect you'd rather take it in the morning since you're tired now. Right?"

"_Yeah,_ but —"

"And we'll be getting up pretty early, so going to bed now's the best option anyway."

"But —"

"_What_?" he asked impatiently. Krycek stared, suddenly forgetting why he had been stuttering. He watched Mulder raise his eyebrows. This just seemed really out of character for him. Was he mistaken, or was Fox Mulder being _nice_ to him?

The agent kept his eyebrows raised, waiting, until finally shrugging and walking behind him to grab one of the pillows from the bed. He dropped it on the floor with a long breath and then crossed his arms and pulled off his shirt. Krycek stared at his upper body as it moved. Right as Mulder was about to lie on the floor, he noticed the assassin staring at him. He stopped, halfway leaned over.

"What?" he asked again.

"You're just being really nice to me," he answered as a quick cover.

"I know, I said earlier I was going to be. Is that a problem?" he questioned.

"No," he replied quickly, shaking his head as he stared.

"Then go to sleep," he said simply, lying on the floor.

"Won't you be cold?" he said suddenly.

"I'm fine," was the audible answer.

Krycek continued to stare, practically longingly, which he refused to admit. He pulled off his own jacket and shirt slowly, taking off his belt with them and setting them on the floor. He loosened the pants he continuously refused to remember were Mulder's and sat on the bed with a sigh.

"Go to sleep," Mulder repeated after a moment. When Krycek looked over he saw the man staring at him with minimal stern. If he didn't know any better, he would mistake it for concern. He broke the gaze quickly and stood up, walking over to the door to flick the switch for the light off. The momentary glare of the light passed and he stepped quietly back over to the bed, crawling under the comforter like a child on a winter night, with total silence. He felt the need to say something, but after deciding against it, he stared at the ceiling. He felt fully awake suddenly. His mind felt strained, and he knew why.

He had been annoyed by the thoughts of Mulder he kept having. Still unsure where they had come from, he finally at that moment gave up restricting them. He let his mind wander as he stared at the ceiling. What _would_ it be like to kiss those lips? He practically snickered at the thought, fighting to keep himself silent. Remember his dream in the car, he smiled to himself. It felt odd to allow himself to enjoy it, he admitted, but a good kind of odd.

It was like a middle school crush, he realized, the kind of crush that he watched on the playgrounds he passed whenever he had the freedom to take walks. The little girls running with the boys playing tag and other games. It was a silly little thing, he reminded himself, but at the same time he almost found it adorable. He felt his face grow warm with a blush that he battled, feeling totally visible in the darkness of the room. He shut his eyes tightly and forced it away, finally letting out am large breath and covering his head with his pillow.

_Fuck,_ he thought.

Mulder heard the slight rustle of Krycek's moving to cover his face and let out the quietest sigh he could. He began to scold himself for some reason. Every time he saw pain in his adversary's eyes now, he felt responsible. He began to think of all the times he had ever brought harm to him, and there was a great many. Whether he still thought Krycek had deserved it or not was out of the question. Alex's sudden decision to help him find his sister was completely out of character. Why would he ever do something like that?

He felt he should be assuming there was a catch to it all. Somehow this would benefit Krycek in a way that would put Mulder at a very large disadvantage. That had to be it. There was still something Krycek wasn't telling him. That was always the case.

He rolled from his side onto his back and crossed his fingers over his stomach, their lack of body heat stinging the nerves in his flesh for a moment. In the dark of the room he could barely make out the ceiling; the unmoving fan. He swallowed dryly, some odd tension twisting in his gut. Something was going on, and he wanted to know what the hell it was.

Maybe he could beat it out of him, he thought. This was merely a joke to himself. AT the moment, the thought of harming Krycek was both seemingly unfair and cruel. He was already in an injured state, and for the moment his intentions seemed only truthful. But why did he keep looking at him like that? And did he catch him looking at his chest just a few minutes before?

The confusion combined with the chill of the room sent miniscule goose bumps up and down his shoulders and sides. He rubbed his eyes, still roughly sore from staring at the road. He could have made Krycek drive the car, he realized. Why had he let him sleep instead of making him drive? Was he right? Was he, Mulder, being too nice?

"Mulder?"

The voice shot through the room like a rifle, making his whole body jerk like he was six years old, caught with his hand in the cookie jar before dinner. His nerves still buzzing and his heart pounding loud enough for anyone to hear, he answered with a semi-controlled "What?"

There was a pause, and Krycek asked softly in the dark, "Are you sure you'll be warm enough?"

Mulder almost snickered to himself, that twisting in his stomach still bothering him. Like every feeling in his heart was painfully dripping into it.

"I'm fine. Go to sleep."

There was silence again, and he heard Krycek lie back down. He rolled onto his stomach, arms crossed under he chin and he closed his eyes. Within another five minutes, he was asleep, and Krycek was still staring at the ceiling, his fantasies building up in his brain like an overflowed dam.

He stared at the clock on the nightstand. It was now 1:20 in the morning. With his luck, Mulder was asleep. That was good. It meant he wouldn't be cranky when he woke up. He lay there for another few minutes before his head began to implode with irritating images. He felt so angry with him self soon enough that he wasn't even cold anymore, and he kicked the blanket off irritably. Trying to get comfortable, he crossed one leg under the other and covered his eyes with his arm and

_(as he felt himself pressing against him those arms slid down to tangle with his fingers)_

clenched his fingers tightly. He released them after a moment and sighed a long dry note. He dropped his arm and sat up, crossing his legs and scratching his shoulder exhaustedly. Accidentally brushing over a bruise on his back, he flinched and dropped his hand again. Without realizing it, he stared at Mulder's silhouette lying on the floor. His breathing was perfect, Alex decided. He didn't snore, he simply breathed like he would if he was sitting reading a book. He was lying on his stomach, his back moving up and down as he breathed slowly like he was focusing on it.

When Krycek finally blinked and noticed what was occupying his sight, he felt his chest grow hot quickly. Silently panicking, he shut his eyes tightly.

_Calm down, Alex. Just calm down._

Opening his eyes again, he saw the same serene body still asleep on the floor. Licking his lips absentmindedly in decision, he turned to the side and grabbed the blanket from the bed, dropping it lightly over the agent's back. Taking another split second to stare at his fixation, he crawled back to the pillow and curled into a ball on top of the sheets. In his confused and sleepless state, he swore he almost heard Mulder's voice.

"Alex..."

He felt his body freeze as a ringing silence followed the small breath. _No, not a breath_.

He lay there for another few moments, his heart pounding as the agents voice echoed his name in his head, playing with the heat in his chest that was quickly spreading down his stomach.

_Stop,_ he begged himself.

He was already giving in, he admitted it. He couldn't even deny it anymore, the thought didn't even pass his mind at all. All at once, the ideas flowed over his imagination, his many daydreams drifting in and out, now more realistic with Mulder's new moan. _Was it a moan?_

_It is now,_ his mind teased.

"Oh crap..." he barely breathed to himself.

Now it was certain, he knew it, there was no getting away from it. He wanted Mulder. He wanted him bad, worse and worse every second as those daydreams grew louder and more vivid, and his blood pulsed faster than ever in his stomach, his head going light. As he felt his heart beating against his ribs, loud enough to echo in the room, he was sure, he tried to shut his eyes tightly while he clenched his jaw shut, trying in futility to muffle his harsh breathing that was starting. It started to effect him so fast that he forgot everything around him, where he was, or what was happening. He wasn't even sure how it had started to effect him at this speed, but his increasing surrender to his lust was feeding it more so.

In his head he was still on his back, but now there was a body above him, the heat radiating from it onto him, driving his blood to run even faster. There were invisible fingers in his hair now, and they tightened as his mouth was attacked, and he gasped out, unsure of how else to react. The second he felt one of those invisible hands down his neck and over his chest, straight down to his pants, he knew where his imagination was going, and it drove him enough to almost do it. His mind was starting to trick him, and he no longer controlled his body as his illusions sent those invisible hands under the waistband of his jeans. Under his stomach grew so hot that he took in a sharp breath again as he started to urge the fantasy onward. Those hands would run over him, there were lips on his stomach now, lower, under his naval, and the growing heat was about to make him moan.

It was only when he half opened his eyes in a daze that he realized his panting had woken his roommate.


	6. Fever

**Chapter 6: Fever**

He couldn't move away before a warm hand was on his forehead. Mulder had been standing beside him, hovering over him in examination.

"Krycek, are you okay?"

He swallowed dryly, trying to conceal his panic as he screamed at his burning stomach. "I'm fine, why?"

"You're really warm. You haven't been sick lately, have you?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You feel like you have a fever."

"I'm _fine._"

A silence fell over the room again and suddenly awkwardness settled within it as well, as Mulder didn't remove his hand from the other man's face. Alex's attempts to calm his body were failing horribly.

"You're sweating," his voice was quieter now.

"I'm all right, go back to sleep."

He rolled over to face his back towards the standing man, feeling those fingertips slide from his forehead agonizingly, keeping burn marks as he clamped his eyes shut. Mulder didn't move, but merely stared in the dark, eyes adjusted enough to see as much as Krycek's moving chest as he breathed rapidly.

"Do you want some water?" he asked, letting be known his effort to try and cover his tone with petty sarcasm.

"Go back to sleep," was the simple irritated reply.

"All right, I'll just get it for you."

"I don't want any water!" he argued, rolling back over to glare in the dark as Mulder headed for the sink by the bathroom. As he heard the water run, he threw the blanket from his body and got to his feet, stepping beside the man and pushing him away from the counter. "I'm fine all right? Just go back to sleep, I don't want any water!"

"I won't go to sleep until you drink it," the agent insisted childishly, holding up the small cup.

"I'm not drinking it!" he protested just as stubbornly.

They stood there for another five minutes in a glaring contest, before Alex sighed angrily, and they began a stupid argument over dumping the water back into the sink. The darker haired man reached for it furiously, trying to snatch it from the agent.

"Not unless you're going to drink it," he insisted.

"I'm not sick, I'm not going to drink the stupid water! Just get rid of it!"

"No."

"You're so childish!" he yelled. He could feel Mulder's smirk beaming on him. "Give it to me!"

"No, you'll dump it out."

"Give it to me!"

"No!"

"MULDER!"

They had another small glaring contest before the agent gave in and set the cup on the counter, backing his hands away.

"If you don't want my help, fine. I'm sorry for trying to be nice." Mulder started walking back towards his spot on the floor, muttering something and Krycek was still trying to fight that burning in his stomach.

"Mulder ―" He stopped himself, turning instead to look in the mirror as he did.

"You do look like you have a fever though. I just wanted to make sure you weren't getting sick. If you're sick, that might compromise the trip."

"I'm fine, Mulder. It's my body, I'll deal with it," the assassin insisted with a small snap to his voice.

_Yeah, I bet you will,_ the back of his mind mocked.

"All right, fine, whatever. Just make sure you get some sleep. I want you driving tomorrow."

"Fine."

Every second made Krycek panic more as he saw how his face looked. He had a full blush from his cheeks, to his ears, and down his neck. He swallowed dryly, and stubbornly drank the water from the small cup, just to get the cotton from his throat. He looked down past his stomach, turning his mouth up stubbornly and then staring back into the mirror before turning off the light and dragging his feet back into bed.

"We'll pick up some medicine for you tomorrow," Mulder added quietly, turning his head to stare at the wall.

"I don't need any, I'm fine."

"I'm still getting some," Mulder insisted, interrupting him in midsentence.

"Fine."

Krycek sprawled out on the bed in a failed attempt to cool down his body. He almost whined to himself, but instead squeezed his eyes shut and prayed to whatever being that Mulder didn't get back up. Just as quickly as they had left his mind when he had gotten up, the images flashed back into his mind again and he felt like ripping his hair out.

Five quiet minutes went by and he listened to Mulder breathing, wondering if the man had managed to fall asleep again. He swallowed, his mouth already going sore and dry again, and opened his eyes to look at the ceiling. He had a small, slow daydream of lying somewhere with Mulder out of sight. Out of sight, but still there, his hands gently caressing over his shoulders, his mouth under his ear, whispering to him that nothing was going to go wrong, for whatever reason.

He stared at the unmoving fan and felt a jerk in his stomach. He could already feel those lips on his neck, and he took in a deep breath. Why him? Why, in the entire world of _useless_ unaware human beings, did it have to be him? Why did he want someone so ― obviously straight? And when did _he_ start _not_ being so obviously straight?

"God damn it," he whined, covering his eyes with his arm.

"What?" Mulder asked, shattering the quiet and causing the assassin's stomach to burn in a split second just from the sound of his voice.

"Nothing. Just having trouble falling asleep," he covered quickly.

"Hm."

Another minute went by, and Krycek moved his arm up to his forehead, looking at the fan again.

"Mulder?" he asked quietly.

"What?"

He took in a small breath, ran his hand back and forth over his stomach for a second, and then sighed, closing his eyes and covering them again with his arm.

"Nothing."


End file.
